It Never Gets Easier

"Pickles died," my wife said, as she rushed through the front door.

In her arms was Peabody, our enormous Emden goose, who was suffering from whatever ailment had just taken Pickles from us.

As she drew a warm epsom salt bath for him, I went out to tend to Peabody's lifelong partner. She was still, with her beak down in the shavings we had put under and around them. 

There was nothing to be done but to drape a towel over her.

***

Both geese had been declining for the past three days, and we had no idea why. My wife scoured the internet for potential causes, most of which suggested they ingested something toxic. With no evidence of anything specific, she then went out and bought every at-home remedy prescribed for such things, hoping one of them would work.

Epsom salts, apple cider vinegar, activated charcoal, molasses—none of them made a noticeable difference. But we were encouraged by the fact that each morning they were still with us. We figured the further we could get them from the onset of symptoms, the better their chances would be.

***

I went back into the house where Peabody was passively sitting in the bathtub. My wife and I took turns holding his head out of the water, as he no longer had the strength to do it himself.

"I just don't know what else to do for him," she whispered.

"I think this may be all there is, right here," I said.

After 20 minutes, maybe longer, she took Peabody out of the bath and put him in a box of shavings by her desk, where we could continue to keep an eye on him. We talked to him and again took turns holding his head up. There was no indication that it made a difference, but we wanted him to know we were there and we cared about him.

At some point my wife half-heartedly said something about humanely putting him down. "We don't want him to suffer..." she trailed off. I just shook my head a little. Neither one of us wanted to do that, nor were we prepared to actually follow through with it.

She got up and walked away for a bit—I sat and held Peabody's head, watched him breathe, noticed his pupils slowly dilating. And dreaded what was coming.

My wife returned with a syringe, saying something about NSAIDs.

"He's gone," I said, barely audible.

***

Later, as evening turned to twilight, I dug a hole on the edge of the property, between a small palm tree and a rainbow eucalyptus. We wrapped Pickles and Peabody in burlap and carried them out between us. My wife picked some blossoms from the nearby plants and placed them on top of the burlap. 

Eventually, the work was done, and the day ended as every day here does—with all our creatures taken care of.